


How Sherlock Got Into Baskerville The Second Time

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Conversations, Butt Slapping, Consensual Kink, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Post-Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, Sherlock is a Brat, Sibling Incest, Smart John Watson, Watersports, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: When Sherlock called Mycroft after realising that he and John had to get back into Baskerville, he called him "brother dear". This is why.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 22
Kudos: 98





	How Sherlock Got Into Baskerville The Second Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/gifts), [Snoozydog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snoozydog/gifts).



> It took me long enough to complete this short fic. And I totally didn't mean for it to get cracky. But that's what happens if I try to write BDSM :)

“You know – I don’t get it.”

“Hm?” Sherlock took his eyes off the street for a moment, glancing at John. “Why people do such things? I don’t either. Science doesn’t justify…”

“No. Not that. Even though it sucked. The poor dog.” John looked pretty grim.

Sherlock, focused on driving again, nodded. “Yeah. Didn’t ask to be involved in this nasty affair.” He wasn’t sorry about this horrible man being torn to shreds, very literally. He’d really had it coming.

“No, really not.” John sounded rather pensive.

They drove on in companionable silence for a while. Then John cleared his throat. “I still don’t get it.”

Sherlock sighed. Of course… “Why I tried to drug you? Used you for my experiment? I did apologise, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t, actually. Would have been nice…”

Oh, those people with their tiny, resentful minds. Bothering with ancient history. “Fine. I should have. I’m sorry, John. Won’t happen again.”

“No, it better not!” John glowered at him. “It totally sucked, you know? But that was not what I meant. Got it wrong again…”

Sherlock fumed. Yes, yes. He had drawn a false conclusion. It had not been in the sugar. Why didn’t John just shoot him?!

“No, what I meant was: why did your brother give you access to the lab? After you’d pulled that stunt with his ID? Would have imagined he’d be furious, not doing you a favour.”

Oh. That… “Well… I... asked him.”

“Yes, exactly. And he just said ‘yes’? After you’d stolen his ID and pretended to be him? Just ‘yes’? That’s it?” John was all big eyes and doubt.

“Basically yes.” Sherlock stared through the windscreen stubbornly.

“I don’t buy that. You walked away a few steps so I couldn’t hear you for the most part. You gestured for me to keep away. Usually you don’t mind me listening to your calls.”

“Well, you know how my brother is. He’s quite paranoid about anybody overhearing his conversations to anyone.”

“Hm. Certainly that’s true. But…”

But?! John hadn’t figured it out, had he? Sherlock started to feel a tad uncomfortable. Maybe even a lot…

“What you said to him… _‘brother dear’_ …”

Sherlock swallowed. “What about it?” he mumbled. This conversation was a bit not good.

“You’d never said anything like this to him before.”

Damn… Since when was John so observant? He should have walked away from him before calling Mycroft in the first place… “Well… I wanted something from him.” Fuck… How _this_ had sounded now…

“Yeah… You know… You’re _archenemies_. One doesn’t call one’s archenemy _‘dear’_ , brother or not.”

Sherlock was sweating now. He fumbled with his coat collar. “My brother had exaggerated quite a bit when he kidnapped you back then. We are not _that_ cross with each other. We’re still brothers.”

“It was a code!” John suddenly yelled, stunned by his own deduction.

Sherlock stepped onto the brake in horror. Both of them were spun forward in their seatbelts. It bloody hurt. “Ow.” Sherlock rubbed his achy chest.

“Yeah.” But John looked rather gleeful. “Didn’t think I would figure that out, huh? Should have known it though. Holmeses. Talking in codes nobody is allowed to understand!”

Quite so… Sherlock just shrugged. What could he possibly say? Sometimes John was a hound, too – a nasty little terrier that never let go until he’d gotten all the meat… And he couldn’t think of a stick to throw to distract him from this touchy (ha!) subject.

“So… When he heard this _‘brother dear’_ , he knew that you would ask him for a big favour.”

Sherlock drove off again. “Forget it, John. It’s a secret.” Oh, it was…

“No, it’s even better. I watched you! You hardly talked at all! And you looked as if you already knew what he would say. So these words didn’t only tell him it’s a big favour. They also told him what you would do for him in return because he would never do this for you without getting something back!” John hit his own forehead in a dramatic gesture of _‘how could I’ve been so stupid?!’_ “You even said to Major Barrymore that you’d negotiated to get a day to examine Baskerville but this phone call was too short for any real negotiations so there didn’t have to be any.”

“John… Please…” Couldn’t his friend just stop doing deductions?! That was _his_ job! And damn it – he knew his face had given away that John was onto something…

“So what unspeakable things do you have to do for him for getting into that lab?” John grinned at him. And then he must have seen the truth on Sherlock's face, no matter how hard he had tried to hide it. His eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets. “What…” he croaked, covering his mouth with his hand.

Sherlock took a deep breath. He felt dizzy. “Trust me just this once. You don’t want to know.” His knuckles were white from the way he had cramped his fingers around the wheel.

John was silent for about two minutes. Then he nodded, his face rather green. “No. I suppose I really don’t…”

Sherlock drove on, hoping that this conversation was over.

Then John said, “I should have seen it. Right on the first day when he interrogated me in this bloody warehouse. Found out everything about me. Even knew what I had spoken about with my therapist! Jealous. That’s what he was. It’s all a ruse, isn’t it? Archenemies, my arse.”

There was nothing to say to this and John finally let it lie. They were silent all the way back to Baker Street. Then John turned to Sherlock. “I guess you will… take one of your long _walks_ this evening?”

Sherlock blushed a bit and nodded. “Don’t expect me to come back before the morning.”

John gulped and nodded, too, and that was that.

***** ***** *****

Sherlock, standing in the middle of Mycroft's large living room, cleared his throat.

Mycroft didn't look up from his phone. He looked great – as per usual. A light-grey suit with a dark-red waistcoat and a matching tie. His hair was styled impeccably. Delicious big brother… “So…” Mycroft eventually said in this tone that didn't mean anything good. “Your doctor figured it out, hm?”

Sherlock winced. How could he know that?! He had only recently searched for bugs in his coat and his phone! There hadn’t been any! And he couldn’t have had one in his rent car! Damn… Lestrade must have put it in! Bloody Gus! _‘I don’t just do what your brother tells me’_ , ha. But this was not the most important subject now. “He won’t say anything. Never.”

“Mm-mm. He better not,” Mycroft answered, absently.

Pictures of an anonymous grave deep in the woods popped up in Sherlock's mind. “I still need him. For cases!” he hurried to add when Mycroft's piercing blue eyes were directed at him. “He’s useful!”

“Is he now… Rather annoying, if you ask me.” Mycroft finally put his phone onto the little round table next to his armchair. “So… Here to pay your debt?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Master.”

Mycroft nodded. “You have embarrassed me, Sherlock. You know that? Breaking into a military institution, using my ID? I ask you!”

Sherlock bit his lip. “I did. I’m sorry. Thought it was beyond you to interfere. Thought we would be out before they find out.” _And I also wanted to play._

“I would rather say you didn't think at all,” Mycroft said in a strident tone. “Impressing your little doctor. Playing games. At my expense!”

“No. I didn’t mean to…”

Mycroft interrupted him with a sigh. “I know. It was for a case… And in the end, you did come to me. Asking for a favour. A big favour.”

“Very big.” Suddenly he stalked forward and let himself drop to his knees in front of his brother. “Please. Let me pay for it! I deserve it.” He nuzzled his face against Mycroft's knee.

Long fingers briefly petted his hair. “Why do I have the strong feeling that it would be a reward, not a punishment?”

 _Because that’s true?_ Sherlock didn’t speak it out but he didn’t miss the brief twitching of the older man’s lips when he looked up.

“Whatever am I going to do with you?” Mycroft asked in a dramatic, long-suffering tone.

“Whatever you want, Master,” Sherlock retorted, cheekily.

“Exactly. Into my bedroom. Then strip. Off you go.”

Sherlock hurried to follow his instructions.

*****

“Won’t you undress, My-… Master?”

“Have I allowed you to talk?” Master asked sternly. He was sitting on his bed, fully clothed. Only his feet were bare.

Sherlock bit his lip. “No, Master.” Ooh, this was going to be fun!

“Get my cock out. Just open the zip. You think you can manage?”

“I’ll try my best.” Sherlock opened Mycroft's fly with deft fingers.

“Don’t get lippy, baby boy!”

“Apologies.”

“As if…” Master was not convinced. “I need to pee.”

“Ooh!” Sherlock's eyes brightened up before he could school his expression.

“Can’t you at least _pretend_ to be appalled?” Mycroft asked, rolling his eyes like only he could.

“Sorry,” Sherlock hissed. Damn… It had been too long since they’d played this game. “Master, you should go to the bathroom then,” he suggested, helpfully, continuing to work Mycroft's large, only slightly hardened member out of its confinements.

“I certainly won’t. Get your mouth on my cock and drink my piss like nasty, insolent little boys are supposed to.”

“But Master… It’s awful and…”

Master raised his eyebrows. “If I have to repeat myself, you’ll regret it!”

“Sorry, sir.” Sherlock meekly bent forward and closed his lips around the thick, red crown of Mycroft's cock, starting to suck immediately. Warm fluid started to flow over his tongue when Mycroft let go.

_Mmm. Really, Mycroft? Drinking a few litres of pineapple juice? Just to taste especially nice for me?_

“Not a word, Sherlock.”

Sherlock started to giggle, making piss dribble out of his mouth and over his naked chest, the carpet and Mycroft's fine suit.

“Insolent brat!” thundered Mycroft. “Don’t talk now!” he hissed when Sherlock proceeded to apologise again.

Using all his willpower to refrain from laughing, Sherlock took the rest of Mycroft's decreasing stream and licked the further hardening cock clean.

“You so suck at being a sub, little brother,” Mycroft complained, sounding decidedly fond.

“I’ll do better, I promise! You should spank me for being so annoying!”

“I really should!” Mycroft shuffled backwards on the bed. “Over my knees!”

Only seconds later, Sherlock’s knees were resting on one side of Mycroft's thighs, his hands on the other one, and he was wiggling his arse quite appealingly, judging by the strangled noise his not-so-secret-anymore lover produced even though Sherlock's plush backside was hardly a new sight for him.

“Provocative little tart,” mumbled Mycroft, under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said… _[smack]_ … that you _[smack]_ … are a provocative little tart _[smack]_!”

Sherlock giggled relentlessly while bringing out, “Oh, good, had thought something was wrong with my hearing.”

“No, just with your _[smack]_ manners!” Mycroft thundered, suspiciously sounding as if he was laughing, too.

He delivered some more slaps that echoed from the walls but hurt close to not at all. Then he buried his face against Sherlock's back. “What are you doing to me, hm? Making your master all mild and weak.”

Sherlock rearranged himself so he was straddling his brother’s lap, his arms slung around his neck. “Nah. Not weak at all. Punished me horribly, bad master.” He kissed Mycroft's smiling lips.

“Yes? Was I very mean?”

“The meanest,” pouted Sherlock. “You have to make it better! All sore, my bum!”

“I bet,” Mycroft said dryly. “Oh, wait, no. These slaps wouldn’t have killed a fly.”

“Stings,” insisted Sherlock. “Kiss it better!”

“Yes? Lick and lap it all better, too?”

Sherlock nodded vehemently. “And then fuck it all better.”

“Oh. That helps?” Mycroft was all big and surprised eyes.

“Yes! Only real medicine for burning bums!”

“I guess it will burn even more then…”

Sherlock winked. “Exactly…”

Mycroft pinched his nose. “All right then. Onto the bed with you and big bad Master will make your bottom burn.”

Sherlock was lying flat – well, as flat as possible with an erection – on the mattress a moment later, watching Mycroft finally getting naked, too. “Don’t let your sub wait too long, Master.”

“I really wonder which of us is the master and who is the sub,” Mycroft mumbled, grinning when Sherlock chuckled.

In fact, they had many roles. Big brother, who took care of little brother. Insolent brat who made the reasonable one’s hackles go up. Two lovers, devoted to one another. Neither of them ever aiming to cause any serious hurt – neither physical nor psychological one. Two men madly in love. And about to get as close to each other as two males could possibly get.

*****

Oh, his master was so cruel… The devil! But Sherlock was sure that the devil didn't even have such a, well, devilish tongue! But Mycroft did, and he was reducing Sherlock to a wriggling, whimpering bundle of arousal, hopelessly rutting against the silky sheets in order to get some friction for his throbbing, hard cock while that… _tongue_ … was buried deep inside him, reaching into the depths of his arse, doing devious, horrible things to his hidden spot. Not hidden from Master, oh no! He knew exactly where it was and he played it better than Sherlock could ever play his violin.

Sherlock almost floated off the bed when an equally awful finger was added, crooked just in the right angle to set his nerve endings on fire. This was torture! Mycroft should be reported to Amnesty International! He couldn’t do that to his poor little brother! Sherlock was dripping and leaking and incoherently begging for Mycroft to deliver him from this horror – by finally sticking his large, thick cock into his vibrating canal!

Finally, finally he had mercy. With Sherlock still lying flat on the bed, Mycroft proceeded to push into his lube-dripping hole. And Sherlock was almost split in two when the large, juicy head was worked into him deftly. Damn… It had really been too long! But God… It felt great. More!

“You okay?”

“Yesss,” Sherlock hissed. “Deeper! Faster! No falling asleep while fucking!”

That brought him, as expected, another stinging blow to his backside, and he giggled into the pillows. “Lazy pencil pusher,” he couldn’t refrain from adding and Mycroft chuckled above him.

“Who’s lazy, huh? Who is lying around like queen bee and is making me do all the work, hm?”

“That’s me,” Sherlock retorted, proudly, and he grinned when Mycroft laughed into his ear.

“Yes. You. It’s always you. Bratty baby brother.”

“But cute, aren’t I?”

“Very. That’s why I always end up indulging you.”

“You could end up seriously fucking me now, though,” Sherlock suggested.

“I could. And I will. Ready for the ride?”

“More than! Give me!”

And Mycroft gave him his massive member, still careful at first, but then the slapping of groin against bum echoed through the room along with Sherlock's howls of pleasure and Mycroft's increasingly hefty panting, and it was all most wonderful. Sherlock's back was hit by droplets of sweat, his arse was so delightfully full and stinging for real now, and deliciously so, and it couldn’t really last very long. Mycroft made sure to hit his sweet spot with every second or third thrust and Sherlock soaked the sheets way too soon with some serious eruptions of seed, feeling as if his groin had been injected with fire. His clamping muscles rippled Mycroft's orgasm out of him as well, and soon Sherlock was covered with a blanket of hot, hairy, sweaty flesh while a huge cock was still planted deep inside of him, holding the mess at bay.

“Crushing me,” he complained when he had regained his speech.

“All your fault,” mumbled a very exhausted Mycroft. “Got what you deserved.”

“That’s why I did it…” Breaking into a secret military institution and then asking his brother for help! It had been a strike of brilliance!

“I know! Why do I fall for you, hm? Every time?” Mycroft had rolled from his back and pulled him against his chest now.

“Because you love me?” guessed Sherlock, batting his eyelids with the long, black lashes at his lover.

“Yes,” sighed Mycroft. “That must be why.”

Sherlock pecked him on the lips. “Good. Cause I love you, too. Very useful, big brother.” Mycroft snorted and Sherlock grinned. Then the younger man tilted his head. “What would I get for breaking into the Tower?”

“The ride of your life.” Mycroft pinched his arse cheek.

“Ah. Tomorrow is another day.” Sherlock, feeling sated and content, rested his head on lovely big brother’s chest and smiled when two long arms were tightly wrapped around him.

He loved it when the game was on. Especially when it ended in such a lovely way.


End file.
